


Our Man Bashir

by wizardribs



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Banter, Canon Compliant, Episode: s04e10 Our Man Bashir, Holodecks/Holosuites, Light Angst, On-Again/Off-Again Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-03
Updated: 2016-02-03
Packaged: 2018-05-18 00:02:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5890276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wizardribs/pseuds/wizardribs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The opening scene of DS9 4x10, "Our Man Bashir," with all the glorious Gashir subtext the script deserves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Our Man Bashir

_Crash!_

An enormous black shape hurled backwards through an ornate glass entryway, exploding through it in slow motion. Shards of glass flew through the air, sparkling, striking, settling finally like a brutal snow around the motionless shape below. The body of Falcon was still at last.

Julian Bashir, dressed in his favorite 20th century attire, allowed himself a small smile at the sight of his holographic enemy sprawled on the floor. He’d seen this image countless times in the past two weeks, but he hadn’t tired of the rush of power it provided. He wasn’t a violent man by any means, but sometimes it was a relief to handle something in such a straightforward manner, instead of playing mind games until he felt his head would explode…

Bashir grimaced. _Move on, Doctor,_ he warned himself. _That’s why you’re here, remember?_ He brushed the glass from his dinner jacket and turned toward the only other figure in the room: a beautiful blond woman wearing a blood red dress and dripping diamonds. She had eased a celebratory bottle of champagne out of ice, and now offered it instinctively to Bashir. She seemed to be waiting to see what he would do.

Obligingly, Julian lifted the bottle to the light. He knew what he would see inside: a reflection of Falcon’s lumbering figure rising to his feet. _Right on time_. Bashir flashed the woman a wry smile as he pulled at the bottle’s wrapping. He waited three seconds until he heard the soft crunch of broken glass under approaching feet, then whirled, twisting its neck at the perfect moment. The cork shot out of the bottle like a bullet, striking his assailant in the skull. Once again, Falcon was on the floor. This time, he would stay there.

Julian knew this program backwards and forwards by now. Thwart the Falcon - twice; say something witty about his win; kiss the girl until he tired of it. Now he quipped, “A lot of kick for a ‘45 Dom." He’d thought of that one during an idle moment in Sick Bay.

The blond woman, as always, seemed almost breathless. She flashed a glowing smile and purred her gratitude in a heavy Russian accent. “Thank you, Mister… Mister…?”

“Bashir.” The young man smiled coolly and offered her a glass. “Julian Bashir.”

In the past two weeks, six other holographic women had heard this same script. The details of his leading ladies had been different, but ultimately each was interchangeable. Simple, beautiful, easily impressed. That’s what Julian wanted now. Something easy. He snaked long fingers around the back of the woman’s perfectly coiffed head and pulled her toward him. Her lips were warm, soft, lifelike, her red lipstick slightly waxy. Uncanny how the holodeck could make every kiss feel different: like no one, and like someone new...

From the doorway, the sound of incessant clapping rang out. Even with his eyes closed, Julian Bashir had a sinking feeling he recognized the applause. Somehow the ship’s tailor had a way of making even nonverbal enthusiasm sound sarcastic.

The Russian woman broke off the kiss, although she remained in Bashir’s embrace. “Who’s that?” she demanded, peering blankly at the figure in the doorway. Reluctantly, Julian opened his eyes and followed her gaze.

Elim Garak stood in the shattered glass entryway, his gray hands applauding in perfect time. He was dressed in the same old-fashioned formalwear as Bashir - a smart black tuxedo, white shirt, black bowtie, shiny shoes. Julian tried not to register how oddly handsome the alien appeared in human attire, or wonder how he’d known what to wear. Instead, he allowed the full force of his irritation to creep into his voice as he answered his date. “An uninvited guest. Excuse me.”

In several quick strides, Julian stalked across the glass-strewn room. Only as the younger man approached did the sardonic Cardassian cease clapping. He leaned back against an ornamental billiards table, an arrogant smirk on his thin lips. “Doctor.” The way he said it almost sounded lewd. Julian opted to ignore the greeting, and whatever game lay beneath it. “Nice tux,” he intoned simply, stepping over the shattered entryway. “Now get out.”

Garak quickly stood again, bringing his body close to Julian’s. “But Doctor, I’ve only just arrived!”

Julian fought to keep the red from rising in his cheeks. He wanted to play cool, but truthfully he felt mortified that Garak had found his way into this fantasy. If anyone had walked in he would have felt embarrassed, but this was beyond that, and he couldn’t help the note of childish petulance that crept into his reply. “Breaking into a holosuite during someone’s program is not only rude, it’s illegal. I should call Odo and have you arrested!”

“What an extreme reaction that would be!” balked Garak innocently. “You must be very embarrassed by this program.” He waved a reptilian hand to indicate the demolished room, but his eyes remained fixed on Bashir.

“I’m not embarrassed,” snapped Julian, mortification morphing into anger. “I’m annoyed that you have intruded into my privacy.” Despite his attempt at composure, his head was swimming. He had to step away, or he’d lose control completely.

Garak, of course, merely followed his lead. “Oh, privacy, indeed,” he murmured, echoing the younger man’s accent as he matched his stride. “I think it goes far deeper than that, Doctor.” Julian groaned, bracing himself for Garak’s unsolicited psycho-analysis. “Ever since you’ve received this new program, you’ve spent virtually every free hour in the holosuite.”

 _Ever since you stopped seeing me_ , Bashir corrected inwardly.

“But you haven’t told anyone what the program is,” continued Garak, gesturing around the broken room again. His eyes lingered only slightly on the blond woman still waiting for Bashir.

“Am I supposed to?” Julian demanded. He tried to keep the bitterness out of his voice, but he couldn’t help it. Garak had been the one who had broken things off. He had returned from the Gamma Quadrant bruised and sullen, refusing to explain anything to Julian. According to Odo, Enabran Tain, Garak’s mentor and the leader of the Obsidian Order, had been lost in the botched attack on the Founders’ home planet. Yet Garak himself said nothing about it, and coolly deflected all of Julian’s questions. Bashir was used to the ex-spy’s evasive behavior, but after four years, he felt he’d earned the older man’s trust. If, after all this time, all this intimacy, Elim still couldn’t be honest with him…

And now Garak had the nerve to barge into Bashir’s holoprogram, acting as if he had a right to invade his privacy when he wouldn’t share any of his own… It was maddening! And still, simultaneously, a secret part of Julian hoped against hope that Garak would answer his bitter question in the affirmative. _Yes. Yes, Doctor. Yes, Julian._ An indication, long awaited, that he did somehow owe the Cardassian the truth. That they owed it to each other.

Instead, Garak flapped his hands in front of him. “No, no.” And then, more firmly, “No.” _There’s nothing between us_ , he seemed to be saying. _We don’t owe each other anything_. Still, he couldn’t seem to resist pushing for information. “But you’re such a…” he smiled, taking Julian’s arm, “forgive me - a talkative man. And it’s so unusual for you to have secrets.”

 _He’s lonely_ , Julian realized with a shock. _He misses me_. A month ago, that would have been all the incentive the doctor needed to rekindle the strained relationship. Now, he bristled. He couldn’t resist driving the knife into the older man’s exposed wound. With as much mingled malice and dignity as he could muster, he returned, “I must have picked up that habit from you.” Julian’s reward for the pointed comment was a stunned jawdrop from the tailor. “Now, if you will excuse me -” He took a sideways step toward the blond.

Quickly recovering, Garak scrambled to keep pace with him. Bashir couldn’t decide whether this was gratifying or infuriating.

“Is this fantasy of yours,” Garak panted, slightly breathless, “truly revealing of your inner psyche?”

“What?!”

“Is that why you’re so protective?” Garak had him now, and he knew it. He took a step toward the doctor, until their faces were mere inches apart. “Are you afraid that I’ll find out some humiliating secrets of the real Julian Bashir?”

His face so close was intoxicating. Julian sputtered to keep from trying to kiss him. “This is a fantasy,” he shot back. “I’m not hiding anything.” _I’m not you_ , he wanted to add. This time, he thought better of it.

Garak smiled. “Well, if you’ve nothing to hide, then why not let me stay?” He cocked his head smugly, clearly pleased with his logic.

Julian stared into his eyes. He wanted to kiss him. He wanted to tell him how he’d missed him, how he’d spent weeks brooding over work padds and throwing himself at women on the station in an effort to forget Garak, move on, resume some absurd idea of normalcy… And now, here Garak was, standing inches from him in the one place Bashir had finally found to escape him. Ironic, really, that a spy program was the one release from the real life spy’s effects.

“All right,” Bashir conceded. He barely knew what he was saying. He only knew he’d been staring into his ex-boyfriend’s eyes for too long, and if he didn’t break it off soon he’d lose himself completely. Besides, maybe this was what they needed. Bashir could prove to Garak that he could function without him, even when the older man was standing right beside him. Actually, he’d like to prove that to himself as well. Maybe this was finally the right time. The right place. For once, Julian would be in charge. On the holosuite, he, Julian Bashir, was the spy, the intrigue, the man with all the answers. He was, quite literally, running the show. He decided to set rules right away. “I have to be at work in two hours, and I’d like to enjoy myself. So keep quiet, and don’t rain on my parade.”

He instantly regretted the choice of words. “Parade?” echoed Garak, incredulous. “Nevermind,” sighed Bashir. Why had he thought this was going to work?

“Don’t worry, Doctor,” Garak assured him, his light eyes sparkling with irony. “I can be very discreet. You’ll barely know I’m here.”

Discreet, right. Hadn’t that always been the problem between them? Aloud, Julian simply muttered, “Good.”

“But,” continued Garak, wagging a finger at the doctor, “if I may make one observation…”

Oh gods, he was going to make some scathing remark. Julian tried to head him off - “Garak...” - but the tailor pushed on, as always. “I only want to point out that your lovely companion is leaving.”

Julian spun around. Sure enough, his holographic date was slinking out of the room, taking all promise of a happy, heteronormative storybook ending with her.

“Odd,” mused Garak innocently. “She seemed so interested in your advances just a moment ago. I wonder what scared her away?”

Julian sucked his teeth and turned ominously back to the inculpable Cardassian. _Oh, I don’t know_ , he thought darkly. _Maybe the appearance of my reptilian ex-boyfriend?_

“Oh, no.” Garak gave a little gasp of recognition, his eyes wide with pretended apology. “I do apologize. You must be incensed. In fact, if I were in your shoes, I’d grab a bottle of champagne and shoot me!”

Evidently Garak had been standing in the doorway longer than Bashir had realized. So much for running the program on his own terms! The doctor turned away from Garak’s mocking smile, stifling a groan. “I can see I’m going to regret this.”

Garak grinned, slapping Julian on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, Doctor,” he promised, ambling along with him toward the next room. “We’re going to have a wonderful time. After all,” he smirked, “what could possibly go wrong?”


End file.
